


If it's all we ever wanted, then baby play along

by GwiYeoWeo



Series: 99 Problems and a Kink Ain't One [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: COME RIDE WITH ME ON OUR NOCT/COR DINGHY, Daddy Kink, Day 4: Daddy, Kinktober 2019, M/M, Noct accidentally calls Cor 'dad', Powerbottom Noctis, Some Humor, then things sort of escalate lmao, will forever hold a special place in my heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 21:57:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20896742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwiYeoWeo/pseuds/GwiYeoWeo
Summary: Noctis had held the practice blade up to Cor’s neck, the blunt edge pressing against an artery. And pressing a thigh in between his legs. They had been skirting around the tension for the past few months, using their trading blows and crossing swords as an excuse to press skin upon skin and breath upon breath. But in that moment, something had just snapped. Maybe it had been Cor’s reasoning, or Noctis’ buttons being torn off.It was a joke, created from an accidental remark of misnaming Cor as someone else. But naturally, things escalate.





	If it's all we ever wanted, then baby play along

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VolxdoSioda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolxdoSioda/gifts).

> (:3 」∠)  
you'll hafta pry this pairing from my cold dead hands
> 
> Also, dear Vol, this is payback for your payback.

It started innocently enough, through a casual slip of the tongue and resulting in an embarrassed prince. 

Cor brushed the tip of his sword across the ground, relaxing from his defensive stance from which he had just parried Noctis’ attack. The boy was still slow, still trying to climb over the hurdles of chronic pain and tough scarring that addled his limbs and nerves, but his efforts and progress was nothing short of remarkable. Not many survivors, at least those with such extensive damage, could ever hope to make _ half _ the recovery Noctis made over the years. Still, there were a ways to go and many years before the young thing could land a scratch on Cor. 

“Shit, go easy on me for once, dad —” 

Noctis had been nursing his bruised ego and his even more bruised ass, flung to his back and eating dirt and gravel, until that single word froze his hands in place and blew his eyes wide open. 

Cor knew for certain that the pink dusting the boy’s cheeks was not the sunburn from the clear skies, especially not with how Scientia had slathered him with bulletproof sunscreen when he learned they’d be training outside today. Knew for certain how to spot a blooming teen’s embarrassment for what it was, how the hunched shoulders and brief panic flashing across his face meant a mini crisis taken way more seriously than it needed to be. Hell, Cor had been in Noctis’ position a handful of times, back in his days of youth training under his captain who was truly more of a father figure than a severe militant. 

But of course, Noctis was in that age of rampant hormones and emotions all thrown into a blender, stuck between keeping up this “cool” persona and penting up his anxieties when he ought to be free to feel how he wanted and seeking help when he needed — except, teenage stubbornness was a helluva beast.

In essence, Noctis was embarrassed by the all too common problem of misnaming a not-dad, dad. 

Cor didn’t really care. He’s done it a handful of times, and while he’s not an actual father, he supposed he was something of a father figure to a good number of trainees anyway. So he ignored it, like he did in the past. 

“All the more reason to keep you on your toes, considering you have a hard time even standing,” Cor said, not even batting an eyelash at Noctis’ slip. 

Noctis’ shoulders sagged in infinite gratitude, losing the stiffness that had seemed to seize him in his moment of teenage terror. Really, was it _ that _ ego-shattering to accidentally call the man a dad? 

The accidents never stopped, though they were few and far in between. Eventually Noctis matured enough to not even care himself, even going so far as to intentionally “mistake” Cor as his father. Sometimes, he cracked dad jokes — sometimes, both of them did.

“Gods, I am _ exhausted. _ Can we take a breather? Please?”

“Hello, exhausted,” Cor said, offering a hand to pull Noctis up from the floor. The prince almost landed a good blow to Cor’s knees, much to the man’s pride, but his rushed attack left him wide open and prone to a fatal counterattack; once again, he had been flung to the ground with a well-timed kick and shove. Noctis rolled his eyes, already realizing his fatal mistake and expecting the joke to follow. “I am dad. But only ten minutes, no more than that.” 

It was strange. Not because Cor wasn’t actually a father, or that he had issues with being seen as one. It was strange simply because of how easy they had both slipped into this inside joke. Truly though, he could understand the how and why from Noctis’ point of view, even when he doubted the prince himself knew the reason.

Cor’s been around for far too long to not notice, after all, and while he’s no psychiatrist, he suspected it all stemmed from a sort of longing. A need to fill the absence of a father. He couldn’t blame Regis, not when he had a kingdom on his shoulders and a war knocking on his very walls. Neither could he blame Noctis, a withdrawn prince who tried to pass off his loneliness as cool indifference when all he wanted was a pat on the shoulder and a word of praise. Both father and son tried to spend what rare time they could with each other, Regis pushing his meetings and council session as far back as he could just to spare a twenty-minute lunch with his boy, and Noctis keeping whatever complaints he had bottled up because he fully understood that the safety of their people far outweighed his desire for a family dinner. 

He’s seen their struggles. Regis would work himself into the early hours of dawn, foregoing sleep and much-needed rest, sacrifice even more of his life and blood for his kingdom, even though the Crystal has taken more than its due. Both Cor and Clarus would have to physically manhandle their King out of his office and into his bedroom, his weak and tired protests swatted down like shriveled up flies. 

And Noctis? All he could do was watch his father wither away, see the once all-powerful man speed through his remaining years within _ months. _ And bear witness to his future in the face of his own blood, see his life cut short in the lines and wrinkles of Regis’ face. 

Cor could never truly replace Regis — he’d never dream of it — but if he could at least help the both of them by just passing off a few dad jokes here and there, then he might just end up writing down a whole list of them just to share with Noctis. 

The young man was looking more gloomy as of late, which is why they’ve been going overtime on their sparring session today. Cor’s learned how Noctis ticked, and he knew one of the prince’s flaws was his habit of bottling everything up. But wear his body down enough, and his mind will follow. Eventually, Noctis would have to spill the beans on what’s been weighing on his heart.

“Your focus is slipping, Prince,” Cor chided, tapping his blunt sword at Noctis’ foot. Said prince chose to take his ten-minute break sprawled on the ground, the cool tiles of the indoor training room a balm against his cheek. He’s even taken the liberty of lifting his shirt up to his neck, making the most of his short reprieve and cooling down as fast he can before he’s hauled back up to his feet. Cor tried not to let his eyes linger too long on that smooth skin, or the hint of a scar that wrapped around from his back to his hip bones, or that teasing peek of his chest and a dusty pink nipple —

Right, so maybe _ his _ focus was slipping. 

Cor coughed into his fist and maneuvered his gaze away, somewhere up to the left of Noctis’ face. “Something on your mind?” 

Noctis, unaware of what had just happened, only groaned and rolled his forearm over his face. "Yeah, a lot actually."

Bingo. Cor sat down beside him, placing his practice sword on his lap and folding his hands over it, and decided Noctis deserved more than a ten-minute breather to discuss his woes. He'd sit there and wait for as long as it took anyway, if only to help lighten whatever troubles that shackled his prince's spirits. 

"Go on," he encouraged, hoping Noctis was willing to share his burdens rather than keep them to himself. When there's nothing but silence, Cor almost believed those walls weren't worn down enough, was about to think of another method other than physical exhaustion to get the boy to open up. 

"It's, uh… Complicated,” Noctis finally said.

"Try me."

"Okay, well. Um. So there's a friend. A real great friend. And we have this little joke, yeah? And we're just going at it, having a good time, but eventually it just kind of escalates. I guess. So do I just keep playing? Am I getting the wrong signals here? Does he feel what I _ think _ he feels?" Noctis started rambling, flinging his hands into the air and gesturing this way and that, throwing air quotes or just waving them about. 

Cor sort of… Got it. Noctis wasn't releasing any names, but he knew this friend must be male. Prompto, Cor suspected, as he's the only friend Noctis has made outside the Citadel. 

" — like playing that dumb penis game. Like, you're in a library or something and you take turns whispering penis louder and louder until one of you chickens out or you get told to shut up. But no one's around to tell you to shut up, and eventually someone's gonna end up yelling penis because you're both pretty stubborn and — "

Cor wasn't sure where Noctis was trying to go with that analogy, but he nodded sagely along and pretends he one hundred percent understood. But whatever the case, he thought Noctis must be wary of where to go, to continue with apparent ignorance until one of them cracked and spilled how they truly feel or to stop and say it aloud at the risk of fracturing their friendship. 

" — the hell am I supposed to do? I mean, it's weird, he'll probably think it's weird but what if he doesn't? I know what I feel, and I really want to think it's not my bias giving me false signals, but I'm pretty sure he feels the same way? And if he doesn't, well, that's cool too. I won't push him, but I'd really like him to stick around and not feel pressured to keep up a facade if he feels awkward and — "

Cor leaned over and gently slapped his hand over Noctis' running mouth, and the boy shoots him the classic 'how dare you' look. He shook his head and pulled his hand away, Noctis picking up the signal and keeping his mouth shut. 

"Alright, I won't claim to be the best at these things, but I will give my two cents," Cor said, and Noctis perked up at the offer. "Personally, I would confront them, but I understand your caution. If following the rules of the game isn't working, then increase the stakes. If you don't want to directly ask them, do so indirectly but make it so terribly obvious even a blind man can see. Increase the difficulty, bonus round, however you want to think it."

Noctis frowned, mulling over the advice and turning it over in his head. “I… guess I could do that.”

“And if that doesn’t work and that friend of yours turns sour, you have a slew of Crownsguard and I to show up at his doorstep.”

“Stop that.” Noctis smacked Cor’s arm, holding back a laugh as his face brightened up. “That’s power abuse, and I don’t think that’s gonna work on him.”

“Regis would find a kingly way to name it otherwise, I’m sure.” 

That earned him another laugh, accompanied by a roll of the eyes, but Noctis already looked several pounds lighter now that he’s gotten it out of his system. Already up again, dusting his shirt and the back off his pants before hefting up his practice sword. Already raring to go for the next round without even being prompted to — nice. 

“Hey,” Noctis said, resuming his stance and digging his heels into the floor.

“Yes, Highness?”

"Thanks, daddy."

Huh, Noctis hasn't called him daddy before. 

Cor was a damn idiot. A damn, _ dense _ idiot. 

He really should have seen this coming a mile, no, a hundred miles away. He should have seen the signs on _ himself _ before even noticing them on Noctis. 

He had seen the odd glances thrown his way, the way Noctis' eyes tended to _ wander _ over places they never wandered before, especially with a nuance the prince never used with anyone else. 

But when Cor's own eyes lingered just a second too long at the sweat dripping down that slender neck, he realized Noctis matured in more ways than just age and growth. And gods, he would drive his own sword into his heart the moment Regis found out. 

Yet when Noctis slammed himself down, he thought there might as well be a blade struck in his chest already, considering the shudder that pierced his nerves and pinned his mind back to reality. Pinned his eyes on Noctis straddling him from above and riding him into the next century. Another obscene slap of skin had Cor bite back a surprised breath, but Noctis looked on from his throne with a shit-eating grin and a lick to his lips. Cor didn't think he'd be _ that _ turned on, but well. 

“Fucking brat,” he wanted to say, but Noctis’ unrelenting rhythm only allowed him a guttural “_ Fuck” _ instead. And he knew that stroked the prince’s ego even more, considering how he clenched around Cor’s cock at the implied praise. Unfortunately, he couldn't hold back the low groan, and his fingers dug into the pliant flesh of Noctis' hips, barely keeping himself from leaving more than just a few suspicious bruises. Torn between keeping him in place to simply savor the warmth and to drag him underneath to ravage him. 

Noctis relented in his pace only to grind himself along, slow and burning and gods damnit, the boy was _ toying _ with Cor now. He lifted a hand from Cor’s chest, bare and exposed when Noctis had clawed his way through the shirt and ripped it off — when and how he became so brazen, Cor had wondered for only a moment before lips came devouring after his — and he tiptoed two fingers across the hard planes of Cor’s stomach to his sternum, lightly digging a fingernail there.

“What?” Noctis laughed, eyeing the man with something absolutely devious. “Is daddy gonna punish me?”

Ah, shit. Those words alone were nearly enough to undo him, and he fought to keep his seams together as he squeezed his eyes and dug his skull into the safety mats underneath. Cor never thought he’d have a daddy kink, but neither did he imagine any of this would happen. (There may have been a few ambiguous wet dreams here and there, with a blurry imaged prince and the empty echo of his voice, but he had chopped it up to the dry spell as of late.) 

"Oh, I think he likes it." Noctis’ words came in breathy moans, a tell-tale sign of his own arousal and heat. He must be struggling just as much as Cor, slowly rolling his hips and denying that sweet ecstasy from them both, trying to keep his head above water and not drown in the heat of the moment, all in order to relish this rare power he had over the man. 

Cor still had his eyes shut tight, but he felt a slow drag of movement and a shift in weight on his chest. There’s warmth beside his face, where damp hair tickled his cheek and eyelids. Lips crawled up the sensitive skin of his neck, to his jaw then his ears, leaving light wet kisses as they explored and conquered. As if there was still anything left to take. 

His resistance fell to the wayside the moment Noctis had landed his first proper hit on him, taking Cor by surprise with a tricky warp and knocking them both against the nearest wall. Noctis had held the practice blade up to Cor’s neck, the blunt edge pressing against an artery. And pressing a thigh in between his legs. They had been skirting around the tension for the past few months, using their trading blows and crossing swords as an excuse to press skin upon skin and breath upon breath. But in that moment, something had just snapped. Maybe it had been Cor’s reasoning, or Noctis’ buttons being torn off. 

“Does daddy like that?” Noctis whispered into his ear, hot breath ghosting over his skin and sending a shudder down his spine. As if to further torture him, Noctis ground his hips just right and breathed a moan so obscene Cor thought he’d need to go repent at an altar.

Who in the hell taught Noctis to do _ that? _ Cor was torn between relinquishing his position to them in promotion and shoving them into the dankest prison cell beneath the Citadel, because this was an utter sin and a blessing all in one. 

Under Noctis’ crafty mouth and within his intoxicating warmth, it didn’t take long for Cor to unravel. He arched his back, even lifting Noctis with him, while his hands groped for purchase and settled on the boy’s thighs, and he came in a burst of white stars and sparklers. All sound was drowned out in the rush of blood in his ears, but he could feel Noctis’ mouth groan against his chest and the shudder of his body against his own. 

Noctis must have come right after, because Cor saw the streak of milk white on his stomach when he finally opened his eyes again, expecting a sleepy-eyed prince but getting a smug-looking brat instead. 

“Heh, thought you’d have a lot more stamina that that, old man,” Noctis said, lolling his head to the side and watching through half-lidded eyes. 

Something inside Cor flared at that, even though he knew what game Noctis was playing. Fine, he’ll fall for it, if only to turn that arrogant smile into an utter moaning mess. 

“Alright, Highness, you asked for it.” Cor growled and gripped the boy’s hips, flipping their positions with a surprised gasp from Noctis. Cor loomed over him, dragging their hips together with a forceful thrust that had the boy tipping his head back in a sharp inhale and eyes blown wide. “I think you’ve been a bad boy,” he began, nipping at a patch of skin just beneath the collarbone. “And a glutton for punishment.”

Noctis hooked his legs around Cor’s back, practically drawing him closer and deeper, keeping him from backing out with a strength that even impressed Cor, and laced his arms around the man’s neck to rake fingernails against the ridges of his spine. With fluttering eyelashes and the most wicked ‘come hither’ look Cor’s ever witnessed, Noctis tipped forward to nip at the man’s lips and gently roll that soft flesh between his teeth. 

Cor would gladly let him eat him alive, he suddenly thought, but of course — 

“Then punish me, daddy.” 

_ ‘This little shit.’ _

If Noctis was laughing before, he was screaming now. And Cor would make sure to have him begging and chanting his name before he was through.

“I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into, Highness.” 

They're bundled up together, with Noctis atop Cor's chest and tracing a lazy circle on his skin, blanketed by their old clothes, while Cor played with the boy’s wayward hair, absentmindedly twirling a lock around his finger. It's nice, he'll admit, being able to just bask in the afterglow and _ finally _ being able to uncoil all that tension that's been building up for gods know how long. 

“Don't worry about it, already asked dad."

"You what."

So naturally, Noctis would ruin the moment by casually blurting out one of the man's worst fears. Cor's hand stilled, heart going a mile a minute — and yup, there's the pressure of dread building up in his stomach, ripe and ready for his sword. Noctis must have heard the hammering in his chest because he picked up his head to look Cor dead in the eyes and clasp both cheeks in between his hands. 

"Calm down, he's not gonna kill you," he reassured. "Hell, he gave _ me _ the shovel talk. His own son! Said underneath that gruff look is a heart that bruises like a peach. Like how you got dumped in your teens and moped around for a good month, writing cheesy poetry and whatever."

Oh, gods. Cor's stuck between relief and mortification. Relief knowing he won't have to redeem himself or repent for his lost honor — for his own, or Noctis', or both — and mortification that Noctis already talked to his own father about all of whatever this is _ and _that Regis had revealed a snippet of his past he thought was buried forever. 

Perhaps, it was Cor who should re-analyze what he's gotten himself into. 

"Stop thinking so hard," Noctis ordered, shifting his weight over Cor, their clothes sliding off him when he straddled him again. He splayed one hand over Cor's chest while he dipped the other lower, fingers tracing the trail of hair that lead down, over muscle and hip bone and sensitive skin and hard planes of well-earned muscle. "Or I'll make you."

But oh, when his prince looked at him with such favor and demand, lips teasing and tongue sharp, how could Cor ever deny him? 

**Author's Note:**

> B]


End file.
